How Did I Become Judas?
by Sinical-Sarchasm
Summary: "I was named for Peter, the disciple who denied; I became like Judas, the disciple who betrayed." A piece about our favorite little rat. You don't have to know about the Bible and it's not really about the Bible.


A.N.: What can I say? I wrote this on Easter, though I couldn't post it until now because I never had the time on Easter day -- I was always away (it rhymes). Anyway, here it is. It has stuff from the Passion history, a little about Peter but mostly Judas. Since some people -- quite a few people -- probably don't know the basic story of Judas, I included it in here so this would make a little more sense for these people. It's not religious at all, though; it's just that it uses references to events in the Bible that it's comparing to. 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Bible and the words therein belong to all the people on the Earth to share. I own only the writing and I'm making no money off of it. However, if you want to you are perfectly welcome to send me as much money as you want. ;-) 

***

I was named for Peter, the disciple who denied; I became like Judas, the disciple who betrayed. That is what he calls me when he tires of the name Wormtail: Judas. It has always please me that he would think so highly of me in the past, yet today it does not in the least. 

Today it dismays me and I feel sad. The pseudonym itself is not the only thing which dismays be; also does the act which deemed me to be branded just another Judas for life. I hate that now. Sirius would sneer and scoff and scorn if he could hear what I am thinking now, but this moment, that's the truth. I dare not tell the Master, for we are never to be dismayed by the service we do for Voldemort or the Dark Side. 

But we can still think our own dismayed thoughts, even if Voldemort doesn't want us to, as long as the thoughts' shadows are not cast and seen upon our faces lest Voldemort catch a glimpse -- or lest a fellow Death Eater see. 

Yes, you must be careful of betrayal here. It surprises none of us, for we are all too familiar with betrayal, breaches of a false trust. They had been committed enough to people outside of the group of Death Eaters, so I suppose Voldemort figured that he could plant these seeds of betrayal within the group as well. For he knows that these seeds of betrayal would sprout into those trees which bear the fruit of hatred, a fruit which is bitter and yet a fruit which gives us, the Death Eaters, all our life. 

And how right he was, how completely correct he was in supposing this. That, I realize, is just another thing I utterly despise and feel dismayed about the Dark Lord: he is always correct. It is maddening, the way he can be so right and yet you know what you're doing is so wrong and yet you must do it, for wrong doesn't mean a thing, and yet... 

I sigh, remembering a Sunday School class long ago when we studied the Passion briefly on Palm Sunday. We learned the story of Judas here. I was still sweet, innocent, uncorrupted then -- I laugh at that self now, yet somehow yearn that it might return to me. I was only five or six or maybe four then, and I couldn't understand. I still remember that day. The Sunday School teacher, a sweet blonde woman, was doing her best to get a bunch of little kids to listen to what she was saying and, after realizing her attempts to settle us down were in vain, began to talk: 

"Then Judas asked the people in charge how much money they would give him if he could get Jesus and bring him to them so they could kill him, and they said that they would give him thirty pieces of silver if he did. So he thought this was pretty good and agreed that when he had a chance, he would betray Jesus. 

"He led them to Jesus one day after Jesus had been praying and kissed him. That was the sign to the people that this was Jesus, the man whom they wanted to kill. So they came and arrested him and Judas had his thirty silver pieces." 

We in the Sunday School class were bewildered. Of course, all of us were so sure that Jesus was so great, though now I'm too bitter, seen too much to believe anymore. And we couldn't understand how Judas of all people could have. He was supposed to be good, we thought -- he was a disciple, wasn't he? So how could he have betrayed Jesus? We could kind of understand about Peter's denial -- he was just plain scared -- but betrayal just because Judas wanted a few lousy pieces of silver? Back then I could make no sense of it at all. None of the students could. 

Now, of course, I understand so much more, for I have taken a place so like that of Judas that the parallels almost frighten me. I, too, have betrayed a man for a small reward: a little power that Voldemort can take so easily, a position that can fade to dust in just a small breeze. Not meaning that either James or Lily were a Messiah -- I don't think I believe any religious stuff about the Messiah anyway, though the whole religion thing is amusing. 

They were good people, except for James' unforgivable blemish when it came to me. Even I have to make that admittance. But no Messiah, not that they ever claimed to be. And anyway, good does not have matter, strength, importance in the real world and in the servitude of Voldemort. 

Funny how my ideals have been altered, changed since those long-past days of Sunday School and Bible Study and religion.Back then, I regarded the only really important thing in life to be being a good, upright, righteous person. To live a morally sound life. 

Now those things usually make me laugh as I despise them, crush them underfoot and scoff them as I scoff the dust on which my weary feet trod. I only think of it on rare occasions like this one time when I wonder if my whole life since Voldemort as been not only for nought but something awful. For in real life, the life of Dark, there is only power and those too weak to seek it. 

I can still remember Sirius' voice that night in the Shrieking Shack: "Peter, how could you?" He could not understand just as I could not understand how Judas could do what he did back in those days of Sunday School. I do not care about what he says, at least I think I don't, try not to, yet for some reason it's all haunting me now. 

Sirius does not understand the truth which my Lord Voldemort has taught me -- at least I think it's the truth. But no matter. He will soon be dead according to Voldemort, and I half-hope that it shall be by my own hands that he does. 

Sirius, too, has eaten the bitter fruit of hatred borne by the seeds of betrayal, but he eats from the tree which I planted with my own betrayal. I let him do it. He eating my fruit is no matter, for once planted the tree can eternally beget the fruit. Fruit eaten will sprout back on for me -- and others -- to eat later. 

A voice tugs at a near-forgotten and long-forsaken, darkly shadowed corner of my ugly mind. How did I get myself into this stupid mess, anyway? Sure I was mad after I found out that seven years, seven entire years, of companionship were false and for naught. I still can hear James' voice playing in my head in that conversation with Sirius so long ago: 

"Oh yeah, Peter, what a silly, stupid boy. The only reason I haven't just told him he's an annoying cling-on is that I feel sorry for the kid. I mean, it's not like there's any way in hell he's gonna get any REAL friends. Stupid thing." James sneered and leered as he spoke. 

Stupid bastard, I think to myself. He, too, was Judas in a way, for he betrayed me by his false pretense of friendship. I only took the role of Judas a little further than he did. James started it all, I know, so why do I still feel so guilty somewhere? I strictly remind myself that he was an ass and he got what he deserved. Oh sure, James the Saint, my ass. 

I determined to find someone real. Someone who could take me under their wing not out of pity as James did but out of real want of me. But who? Who could, who would, guarantee me this? How could I know they weren't just playing a cruel game and sneering behind my back like James did? 

Then I met Voldemort. And I knew that this was my escape, my haven, strange as it may seem. Voldemort would not just pity me. Voldemort would not just create false kind emotions up. And he would give me power. Finally. As Judas traded a life for silver, I traded two for power. 

I hate this cursed situation nonetheless as I suddenly realize the wholeness of this. How -- why -- did I ever let this Hell happen? How could I have ruined my life like this? Damn why can't I just change it and fix it? Now I am stuck in this ugly, hideous Hell and there is no way out of it...no way out... 

Judas realized too. He, too, realized that what he did was wrong and stupid and foolish but he too realized it too late to fix it, to make repairs. And he, too, was stuck in an ugly situation so much like my own. So he took the only way out of it: he returned the silver and was killed by his own hand. I finally realize completely why he took that way out: because it was the ONLY possible way for him to get out of that cursed situation he was in. 

I take this way out and die with a single legacy of betrayal pinned upon my hated body, a single tear of remorse lying under my right eye, and a single phrase of inquisition suspended upon my frozen and dead lips, a question never answered, never even asked aloud: 

"How did I become Judas?" 

*Finis*

A.N.2: Did you like it? Whether or not you did, please **review**


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